


If I Had a Hammer: A Sweeping Tale of Love, Rivalry, and Multicolored Pants

by Erandir



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Sports, Curling, Curling AU, Don't Judge Me, Gen, M/M, Norwegian Curling Pants
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-15 02:04:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1287127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erandir/pseuds/Erandir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years ago Tino would not have been able to tell you what curling was. How quickly things had changed.</p>
<p>Or, the fic in which there is curling and maybe some other stuff happens too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stone Set in Motion

**Author's Note:**

> Curling AU because curling is amazing.
> 
> This fic is actually just a series of non-chronological shorts and scenes from this AU rather than a linear story. Deal with it.
> 
> Don't worry, the Norwegian pants will make an appearance. And it will be glorious.

Two years ago Tino would not have been able to tell you what curling was. He may have been vaguely aware of its existence during the Olympics – if only because news coverage interrupted his hockey or guilty figure skating viewing – but he had never watched a match or given the sport any thought.

How quickly things had changed. 

They met at a hockey match. Rooting for opposing teams. Tino had had a bit too much to drink and was looking for a fight after the Finnish team lost yet again to their western neighbors. Anyone other than Berwald probably would have given him exactly what he was looking for. Instead, the Swede manhandled him into a taxi, sent it to the address on Tino’s ID, and paid the fare himself when he realized the Finn’s wallet was empty. He even rode in the taxi with Tino – an adventure in itself – and helped him stagger up to his apartment.

Tino was sober enough to know this was something he should be grateful for, but drunk enough that he was still hostile toward anyone wearing blue and gold. The combination resulted in enough confusing and conflicting emotions that eventually Tino just gave up, allowing himself to be deposited in bed before simply passing out.

When he woke the next morning with a pounding hangover it took Tino a long while to figure out how he had gotten home. He only remembered when he staggered into the living room and found his Swedish rescuer asleep on his sofa.

Tino stared at the strange man in his apartment for a long time while his hungover brain tried to make sense of the sight before him. The Swede was sprawled out on the sofa, head on one armrest, feet hanging off the other. A pair of glasses sat askew on his face as though he had had no intention of falling asleep there. Good. He should not have.

Not happy to have someone in his apartment who reminded him of his country’s shameful defeat the night before, Tino bent over and shook the other man roughly. The stranger woke up immediately, eyes fluttering open and a hand moving instinctively to fix his glasses. When eyes could finally focus again they settled instantly on Tino.

“What the hell ‘re you doing in my apartment?” Tino asked, trying to sound authoritative and demanding, but far too hungover for it to come off very well.

“I helped y’ get home last night,” the man replied slowly. His accent was incredibly thick. A northerner? Someone who did not use English very often at least.

“I know that,” Tino snapped, but regretted it immediately when his head throbbed in pain. “What are you still doing here?” he asked more quietly.

“Sorry,” the Swede began. “The taxi left an’ my phone died. Was just gonna use yours to call my friend, but he wasn’t picking up. Guess I fell asleep.”

It was actually a very reasonable explanation, but Tino still wanted to be angry. He felt terrible both physically and emotionally, with the combination of a pounding hangover and the lingering disappointment from last night. Tino grumbled. He wanted to be mad, but this man was giving him nothing to be angry about. Sighing in exasperation, Tino stepped back enough to let the Swede sit up comfortably. “Fine. I guess using the phone is the least I can do for getting me home safe last night. You can use my charger if you need; it’s on the table by the door.”

“Thanks,” the Swede replied, but Tino had turned around before he even finished the word, heading into the kitchen.

He could not deal with this so early in the morning, with a hangover and without coffee. Actually it was not that early; already almost eleven according to the clock on the stove. At least it was Saturday, Tino thought as he began making a pot of coffee. As he waited for the drink to percolate he could hear his unlikely guest moving around in the other room. Tino hoped he would leave soon. He was not in the habit of allowing random strangers into his home. But he knew he might be waking up in a hospital or on the street if not for the man in the other room. Apparently the stranger managed to get his phone working, because a moment later Tino could hear him talking to someone in fast Swedish.

The talking stopped just about when the coffee was ready, so Tino poured two cups and left the kitchen again. “You talked to your friend?” he asked.

“Ja,” the Swede replied, barely glancing up from his phone.

“Here, I made coffee. You can have some while that charges,” Tino added, offering one of the cups to the stranger. After all, he supposed he should let the man charge his phone for more than a few minutes, and coffee was a good way to pass the time.

“Thanks,” the man said, and looked up. He stared at the mug offered to him with surprise, but eventually put down the phone and took it from Tino. “I’ll be outta here soon.”

Tino was glad to hear that, but not rude enough to say it out loud. His head was starting to feel better after a few sips of coffee, and he decided that if this stranger was going to rob or murder him he probably would have done so by now. “I’m Tino, by the way,” he said suddenly.

The Swede took his gaze of the coffee and fixed him with a surprisingly piercing stare. “Berwald,” he eventually replied.

“Thank you for getting me home last night, Berwald,” Tino said earnestly. This was a very strange situation, but he was grateful. “That’s the last time I go anywhere by myself, I think.”

“You’re welcome,” Berwald assured him. “Would’ve done it for anyone.”

“Well, I’m glad you did it for me,” Tino said.

Somehow the unlikely pair wound up talking over coffee and breakfast, where Tino discovered that Berwald made the best scrambled eggs he had ever tasted. They talked for well over an hour, until the buzzing from Berwald’s phone reminded him that he had a life to get back to.  

“Can I get your number?” Tino asked suddenly, just as Berwald was about to leave. It surprised even himself, and judging by the way Berwald’s eyes widened it surprised him too. “You know,” Tino began again quickly, “In case I ever need someone to get me home from a hockey game again. Or have a craving for scrambled eggs, because I’ll never be able to make them like that. I mean, if you even live around here. I guess if you’re just here for the hockey or something then it doesn’t matter. Never mind.” He knew that he was rambling, trying to play it off like it was no big deal and probably doing a terrible job.

For his part, Berwald just waited patiently for Tino to stop talking, then nodded and looked around for something to write on. Tino scrambled to find him a pen and paper, feeling flustered for reasons he could not explain. Eventually he produced something for Berwald to write on, and the Swede scribbled his phone number down quickly. “Live in Karlstad,” he said. “Not too far to come for another game.”

Actually it was. Three hours by car or train, Tino guessed. But if Berwald was willing to travel that far he was not going to complain. Then again, maybe he was just being nice. Either way, Tino did not care because, frankly, even if Berwald was the enemy where hockey was involved he was actually very nice. Not to mention good looking. “I’ll, uh… I’ll call you then,” Tino stammered, heart pounding as he took the paper and stared down at the numbers as though they spelled out the meaning of life. “Thanks again for last night… and for breakfast.”

“Don’ mention it,” Berwald assured him before he stepped out the door and disappeared down the hall.

Tino did not wind up calling Berwald for nearly two weeks. First because he had no reason, then because he had no courage. Because by then all the hockey games were over, which meant he had to find some other excuse to call someone who was still essentially a stranger. An excuse that would not make him sound like a stalker or a desperate housewife. What he came up with probably just made him sound pathetic, but Tino could live with that. There was some kind of music festival about midway between Karlstad and Stockholm. Tino was not actually all that interested in going, but you can’t ask a stranger to drive three hours just for coffee. Tino told Berwald over the phone that the friend he had planned to go with pulled out last minute. If Tino saw through his lie the Swede did not say anything.

“So what do you do when you’re not keeping me from making a complete ass of myself?” Tino asked as they wanted into the festival park. “Do you have a life I’m keeping you from? Family?” He was probably not nearly as subtle as he was trying to be.

“Just my brother,” Berwald replied. “Spend enough time with him at work anyway.”

“You work with your brother?” Tino asked curiously. Some kind of family business? “What do you do?”

Berwald hesitated, glanced over at Tino nervously. Of course he had not expected Tino to recognize him, he was not exactly famous. “We play on the same team,” he answered vaguely.

“Team?” Tino perked up with excitement. An athlete. A professional athlete. He congratulated himself on his good taste. What sport? Hockey? They had met at a hockey game. Probably minor league, though, or Tino expected he would have heard of him. “Where do you play?”

Tino seemed to be jumping to conclusions, and Berwald hated to disappoint him but it would happen sooner or later. Better get it out of the way now. “Karlstad CK.”

Tino’s grin faded and his brow furrowed in confusion. “Karlstad CK? I don’t know them,”

Of course not, how could he. Berwald felt embarrassed even though he knew it was nothing to be ashamed of. “It’s curling.”

Now Tino looked even more confused. “Curling?”

“Ja,” Berwald confirmed. “Y’know… The one with the big rocks that you slide across ice?” Tino was just looking even more confused. “The one with the brooms? … It’s in the Olympics,” he tried, unable to describe the sport without making it sound incredibly lame. Probably because it was incredibly lame. And now Tino probably thought he was incredibly lame. “Never mind.”

“Sorry,” Tino said. He was honestly clueless; he had no idea what Berwald was talking about. He could tell that Berwald was… embarrassed? Is that was that expression was? Anyway, it made him feel bad for not knowing what Berwald was talking about, even if it did sound a little silly. A sport with brooms? “I’ll have to look it up when I get home.” Maybe it was more interesting than Berwald made it sound. He could probably find a way to describe hockey that made it sound boring and stupid.

It was not more interesting than Berwald made it sound.

True to his word, as soon as he got home Tino booted up his laptop and googled curling. He read the Wikipedia page and he found a recording of some match from the last Olympics on YouTube. It was possibly the most boring sport he had ever heard of, and he could not understand why anyone would willingly devote their lives to it. Then he felt guilty for thinking that. Apparently there were a lot of people who took this sport very seriously, Berwald among them. So maybe he should give this thing a chance.

It took another few days for Tino get work up his courage again, and to figure out a way to broach the subject that would not offend Berwald on accident. “I looked up curling,” he said when he finally called Berwald again. “And I… I don’t get it.”

“You don’t get it?” Tino could hear the confusion in Berwald’s voice. Disappointment, too, though he could be imagining that.

“I watched a game online,” Tino elaborated. “Well, most of one, anyway, and I guess… I just don’t understand… what’s the point?”

On the other end of the line Berwald was silent for a moment before he spoke again, “Well, you wanna get your team’s stones closes to the center of the target,” he began.

“No, no, I get that much,” Tino interrupted, and sighed a little. “What I mean is… Obviously you think it’s fun, right? Maybe it’s more fun to play than it is to watch, or maybe I just don’t understand it. I guess what I want to know is… why do you like it so much?”

Again Berwald was silent for a long moment. “People say it’s like chess. All about strategy. But you also gotta have skill to throw the stone right.”

Tino nodded even though Berwald would not be able to hear it. “Kay… I can see how that would be interesting, if you like that kind of stuff.”

“You don’t?” Berwald asked.

“I think I’m too dumb for anything that complicated,” Tino replied. “Hockey is easy. Get the puck, put it in the goal, murder anyone who gets in your way. Rinse. Repeat.”

Berwald chuckled softly. “Guess so, when y’ put it like that. Would y’ like to try playing sometime?”

“What do you mean?” Tino asked.

“I mean… Have to ask coach an’ everyone,” Berwald stammered a little, “But you could come to practice sometime. Try it for yourself.”

Tino had never been invited to watch any sort of professional sports training, so he was excited despite the fact it was a sport he knew little, and cared even less, about. “Would that be okay?”

“Yes,” Berwald assured him. “There’s a curling school and other teams in our club. I don’ think anyone would mind.”

“Alright then,” Tino agreed. “If you don’t think I’d just be in the way. Talk to everyone and let me know when I can come over. Maybe I’ll get it once I’ve seen it in person.”

“Hope so,” Berwald replied.

* * *

Curling was much better in person, and that was an opinion that Tino held to this day. He always hated having to watch it on television, though more often than not he wound up that way. His job simply did not allow for the amount of vacation time needed to follow a sports team around the country. Or around the world. But it just was not the same sitting alone in his apartment screaming at the television. Actually inside the stadium there was an energy that simply did not translate through the television. 

Of course, the only energy Tino was feeling as he waited for Berwald outside the curling club for the first time was nervous energy. He had suffered the long, early morning train ride on that Saturday, clutching a now cold cup of coffee in his hands as he chewed his bottom lip and looked up and down the dreary parking lot for some sign of his friend. He was much too scared to go inside on his own, even if it was cool enough to be uncomfortable standing around outside. Whenever a car drove past he perked up a little, and by maybe the sixth one he was finally not disappointed. The old Volvo pulled up in front of the nondescript building and Berwald climbed out a moment later. He’d obviously spotted Tino already, and hurried up to him. “Been here long?” he asked, frowning a little.

Tino shrugged. “The trains were actually on time today,” he replied.

“Sorry I’m late,” Berwald said, “You could’ve gone inside.”

“I thought that would be a little awkward,” Tino admitted, feeling embarrassed. He’d seen a few people going inside, none of them paid him much attention, but he did not want to walk into a room full of strangers where he still wasn’t sure he was actually welcome.

“I’ll introduce you to everyone,” Berwald assured him, and headed for the door, “Then it won’t be awkward.”

“Thanks,” Tino replied, following after him. He tossed his cold coffee into a trashcan by the door and stepped gratefully into the warm building. They had stepped into some kind of lobby, and already Tino was a little stunned by how different this was from every hockey stadium he had ever been in. It looked more like a school gymnasium, high ceilings and cement walls that made his footsteps echo as he followed Berwald like a lost puppy.

The introductions began almost immediately when they left the locker room where Berwald had changed only his shoes and left his coat. As soon as they stepped back out into the lobby they were ambushed. The man was nearly as tall as Berwald, and rushed up to him and slapped Berwald on the shoulder in what was probably a sign of affection. “Berwald, you’re late! What happened? Finally decide to become human and sleep in? Or did—,” He cut off when his eyes rested on Tino and a grin spread across his face.

“This is--,” Berwald started, but did not get a chance to finish before the man interrupted him again.

“You must be Tino,” he exclaimed, probably too loudly, “Berwald hasn’t stopped talking about you in weeks. I’m Mathias.”

Tino took his offered hand and shook it, “Nice to meet you. Thanks for letting me come today.”

“No problem,” Mathias laughed, “Who would I be if I didn’t let my baby brother show off sometimes.”

“Brother?” Tino looked back and forth between the two tall men. So then this was the brother that Berwald had mentioned. But the two did not look very much alike. Actually, except for having the same blond hair and blue eyes they hardly looked alike at all.

“He hasn’t told you about me?” Mathias asked, and Tino could not tell whether he was actually offended or not. “Berwald, how thoughtless, what, are you ashamed of me?”

“He has mentioned you,” Tino was quick to assure him. He wanted to make a good impression on Berwald’s family. “You just don’t look like brothers.”

“We’re only half,” Berwald informed him.

“Same dad, different moms,” Mathias added. “Obviously I inherited all of dad’s good looks, so there wasn’t much leftover for Berwald.”

Tino wasn’t so sure about that, but he laughed a little anyway. “I guess his mom made up the difference, then.”

Mathias’ eyebrows shot up to his hairline in surprise, then he laughed loudly. “I like this one, he’s feisty. So, you’re here to learn about curling, huh?”

Tino nodded, “I want to see why Berwald likes it. I watch a little online but… But I don’t really get it, and it’s a little boring when you don’t understand.”

“Yeah, I thought it was pretty dumb, too, when we first started,” Mathias confided, and slung an arm around Tino’s shoulders, beginning to steer him across the lobby toward a pair of double doors. Tino let the man pull him, but glanced over his shoulder uncertainly at Berwald, who just nodded to reassure him and followed behind. “It was Berwald who wanted to start this,” Mathias continued, “I wanted to play hockey, but this was cheaper, so dad forced me to just join in Berwald’s lessons. The rest is history, I guess. Still wish we did something as glamorous as hockey, but what can you do. Too late to change careers now.”

Tino just nodded as he listened to him ramble, until he pushed open the doors and pulled the Finn into what in any other situation Tino would have called an ice rink. However, he felt like that was probably the wrong term to use for this sport. The majority of the floor was covered in ice, except for a small wooden walkway around the edges. There were benches on the side where they were standing, and under each of them Tino saw the iconic curling stones, exactly like the ones he’d seen players use online. The ice itself was separated into four wide lanes, each with a target-like set of rings on each end. To Tino’s surprise, the room was completely empty of people. “Where is everyone else?” he asked.

“Today is actually our day off,” Mathias admitted. “So everyone won’t be here today. Right now I guess everyone who did show is in the gym.”

“It’s your day off?” Tino asked, and looked at Berwald again. He had not mentioned that, but Tino was actually relieved. So he really wouldn’t be in the way, or have to embarrass himself in front of a bunch of strangers.

“Yeah, but I couldn’t let Berwald have all the fun, could I?” Mathias said, and released Tino’s shoulder’s finally. “What do you say, Berwald? Teach him the ropes then we’ll play a match?”

“Two on one?” Berwald asked, “You don’t think that’s a little unfair?”

“No,” Mathias shook his head and smirked, “I think it’s enough of a handicap for you to beat me for once.”

* * *

Berwald and Mathias made everything look easy, but Tino found it actually fairly difficult. The stones were much heavier than they looked while gliding effortlessly down the ice. More than a few times Tino fell flat on his face as either the stone or his feet slid out from under him unexpectedly. Every time Berwald was right there to help him up again. 

They did play that two-on-one game when Tino got the hang of throwing stones and sweeping without falling over. He and Berwald still lost miserably, and Tino definitely knew it was his fault. Only about half of his throws ended up where he wanted them, and half of those didn’t even make it all the way to the other end of the sheet. It was still fun, though. There was a thrill of excitement when something went right for his team, and disappointment or frustration when it did not. Just like every other sport Tino had known. And it was surprisingly exhausting.

“Sorry for making us loose,” the Finn said to Berwald as he collapsed onto a bench after the game. It was a fairly embarrassing loss. Mathias had pulled far ahead of them very quickly and remained there the entire game.

  
“It’s alright,” Berwald assured him, and he offered Tino a water bottle, which Tino accepted gratefully. “He beats me most of the time anyway. Did you have fun?" 

“I did,” Tino smiled after taking a long drink of water. “It’s a lot harder than you guys make it look. But it’s a lot more fun than it looks on TV also.”

“Good,” Berwald nodded and the tiniest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Tino was beginning to understand that this was just what Berwald’s smiles looked like. The Swede’s face was not very expressive, but Tino was beginning to learn what to look for, and right now that ghost of a smile told him all he needed to know. “You can come back and play again whenever you want.”

“You know, I just might take you up on that,” Tino replied with a much wider grin.


	2. Beginning of an End

All three of them had played together in their youth, as announcers were fond of reminding everyone whenever their teams faced each other in competition. Back then, when they had all lived in the same town and gone to the same school and spent all their spare time together on the ice, the trio had been practically inseparable. Then Aleksander’s family had moved to Norway, and Berwald and Mathias were distracted by adolescent life and they fell out of contact for a long time. 

It was curling that built their friendship the first time around, and it was curling that brought them together again years later like the hand of fate itself. This time, however, they were not teammates, but opponents. 

It was the Junior World Championships, and Mathias and Berwald had been extremely lucky to make it onto their national team, and their parents were exceedingly proud about it, much to the brothers’ embarrassment. Their old friend, it seemed, had made it onto his national team as well.

“Hey,” Mathias nudged Berwald in the ribs as they stood beside the ice sheet, waiting for the opposing team to stop arguing about what shot to take so they could get on with the game. That’s not what Mathias was looking at, though, his gaze was focused on the game underway on the sheet to their left. “Is that Aleksander?”

Berwald followed his brother’s gaze toward the other match. He knew it was bad to pay attention to the other games going on, they needed to stay focused on their own, but curiosity got the better of him. There was only one Aleksander he could possibly be talking about, but they had not seen him for probably ten years. To be honest, Berwald wasn’t entirely sure he remembered what Aleksander looked like.

“I think it is,” Mathias said, brow furrowed as he stared at the other man. “Do you think so?”

“Think you should pay attention to the game,” Berwald replied. Their opponents had just thrown their stone. He watched with bated breath as it slid down the ice, aided by the sweepers working furiously before it, and knocked their own team’s stone out of play. Berwald frowned, even though they had expected exactly that to happen.

\----------

Their own match ended before their friend’s, so Mathias whined and pleaded until he convinced Berwald to wait in the hall between the stadium and the locker rooms for Aleksander to emerge with his team. They did not have to wait very long. When the team stepped through the doors Mathias was quick to try and get his attention. “Aleksander!” he called, waving over the heads of everyone else. 

The Norwegian looked over at them in surprise, and then confusion, and he glanced back at his team uncertainly as Mathias made his way over with Berwald trailing behind, ready to clean up any mess his brother made. “Do you remember us?” Mathias was asking, to which he was only met with a confused frown and a shake of the head. “You are the Aleksander Nilsson who played in Härnösand until like five years ago, right?”

“I am,” the Norwegian answered slowly, and took a closer look at the pair standing in front of him. Mathias with his hopeful grin, and Berwald standing behind him stoic and straight-faced as a statue. They did look familiar, so he tried to remember how the announcer had introduced them that morning. Ah, now he remembered. “Mathias? Berwald?”

Mathias’ grin spread from ear to ear. “I knew you couldn’t forget your best friends,” he said happily. “Knew you’d make it here eventually, too. You were good back then.”

“For a ten year old, maybe,” Aleksander replied flatly. “I’m surprised to see both of you here, though.”

“Why, you think we aren’t good enough?” Mathias asked, “We’ve been working really hard while you were away.”

“Obviously,” Aleksander said. “What have you two been doing all this time?” 

Mathias shrugged, “Oh, you know. Normal stuff. Curling school.”

“Oh yes, I heard you have one of those,” Aleksander commented, “Not everyone gets to quit school to play sports, you know.”

“We didn’t quit school,” Mathias frowned, getting a little offended. “There’s nothing wrong with vocational school. It’s still school.”

“Most people wouldn’t consider curling a vocation,” Aleksander said flatly.

“If you’re one of those people, why are you here?” Mathias demanded. If he was good enough to get on a national team, even a junior one, then clearly he was good enough for it to be a viable career. 

“I never said I was,” Aleksander replied.

“Then what the hell is your problem?” Mathias growled. Berwald placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder to calm him down, or to hold him back if he tried to do anything stupid.

“Some of us have to work to get here,” Aleksander snapped, “We don’t get it handed to us.”

“It wasn’t handed to us,” Mathias snapped back. “We’ve worked hard, too. You have no idea what we’ve done to get here! And why the hell does it matter to you anyway? Everything was fine until you learned we go to that school. Are you jealous?”

Aleksander clammed up immediately, jaw clenched and lips pressed into a firm line. “My team is waiting for me,” he changed the subject quickly and turned away, “We have to practice for this afternoon.”

“Right, sorry to keep you,” Mathias said, apparently ignoring how Aleksander had dodged his question. “Good luck. Maybe we’ll see you in the finals.”

“I plan on it,” Aleksander said over his shoulder. He hurried off after the rest of his team without so much as a wave goodbye. Berwald watched him, then looked over at his brother. That meeting had not been the best, and he was worried that Mathias might take it badly. His brother was still smiling though, much to Berwald’s surprise.

“We play them tomorrow, I think,” Mathias said, almost to himself. “We’ll beat him for sure.”

“For sure?” Berwald repeated dubiously.

“For sure!” Mathias confirmed.

\----------

Their win turned out to be less certain than Mathias had believed. In fact, they lost. Badly.

Maybe Mathias or Berwald had been distracted. It certainly seemed like Mathias was attempting to show off. And Aleksander was skip, so he spent most of the game at the far end of the sheet, watching. The perfect position for Mathias to show off to, and perhaps he spent a little too much time trying to make himself look good and not enough time making sure his shots were accurate. Or maybe Aleksander was just that good at leading his team.

When the whole thing was over, and the Swedish team had lost 6-2, Mathias offered smiles and handshakes, but Berwald could tell that he was moping. As soon as they were off the ice the smiles were gone and he shuffled his feat, kicking the handle of his broom with every step. That was a habit he had had since he was eleven and they had lost their first game against another curling school. 

“It’s just the prelims,” Berwald said as they left the stadium. “There’s still the playoffs. We could play them again.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Mathias replied, but continued kicking his broom. “What if we don’t make it? What if they don’t make it?”

Berwald shrugged, “If they keep playing like today they’ll make it,” he commented. “And if we stop being distracted we could do it.”

“You’re saying we lost because I was distracted?” Mathias asked defensively.

“You know you were,” Berwald said, but would never admit that he had also been a little distracted. It was their first real chance to watch their old friend play, and he’d wanted to see how good he was. 

Mathias scoffed in annoyance. “Whatever, so were you, then,” he grumbled. Berwald did not reply.

\----------

They played only one match the next day instead of the usual two, which gave their team a welcome bit of rest, and a chance to scope out the competition from the stands instead of from the stadium floor itself. Their coach had been very specific in telling the five boys to watch the teams they had not yet played, so they could come up with strategies to use against them in the future. But Mathias’ attention was glued on the Norwegians and could not be torn away. Berwald’s attention was also on them, but not as fixedly as his brother’s, and certainly not as obviously as his brother’s. He was smart enough to know that as much as he wanted to watch his old friend play, it was a bad idea when they still had over half the competition ahead of them.

But damn, Aleksander was good. He did not miss a single shot the entire game. 

The same could not be said for their own skip. Not that he was bad, per se, but his accuracy was nowhere near Aleksander’s.

If they faced the Norwegians in the playoffs or the semifinals, Sweden would lose. And probably just as badly as they had lost the first time. 

The boys were spared another such embarrassing defeat, however. They did not make it to the playoffs. It was disappointing, of course. Mathias spent a lot of their spare time wallowing around the hotel room he shared with Berwald feeling sorry for himself and complaining about everything that had gone wrong. A missed shot here, an overly heavy stone somewhere else, an opposing team forcing them to blank one too many ends. Berwald listened sympathetically and offered what little comfort he could when he was feeling just as badly himself. 

To make it worse, their coach forced them to go to every game during the rest of the competition. To study the other teams’ strategies, he said. So they did not screw up next year, the whole team heard. It was disappointing to watch the teams that were clearly so much better than them, but also somewhat thrilling. Mathias and Berwald found themselves rooting for the Norwegians. Partly because of Aleksander, and partly because they were Sweden’s closest neighbor and it made more sense than rooting for China. 

Aleksander brought his team all the way to the finals. But in the gold medal match they ultimately lost. It was disappointing, but expected. Scotland had won the Juniors the past three years in a row. 

Obviously inventing the sport gave their country a bit of an advantage.

Couldn’t they let someone else win once in a while?

When the ceremonies and the fanfare were over, the medals and the trophies all handed out and the photos taken and the interviews given, Berwald was more than ready to just get back to the hotel room and pack his things for their flight the next day.

Mathias was having none of that. He took his younger but already taller brother by the elbow as soon as they were out of the stadium and pulled him through the crowd heedless of Berwald’s protests. Pulled him all the way over to the sea of red jackets that was the Norwegian team. Aleksander and the coach were just finishing up another brief interview. They seemed to be stopped every ten meters by someone else who wanted a photo or a sound bite. It was even worse outside the stadium, where the press were not herded into pens like sheep but allowed to roam free and shove a microphone into any face they wanted. 

“Aleksander! Congratulations,” Mathias butted in as soon as the reporter had turned away, “You were amazing!”

Aleksander favored him with a look that was difficult to read, somewhere between confusion, annoyance, and flattery. If that was possible. “Thanks,” he replied. “Not amazing enough, though.”

“Yeah, but it was Scotland,” Mathias said with a shrug, “That would have to be a miracle.”

“I suppose,” Aleksander said, though he did not sound like he believed it.

“Can we buy you a drink?” Mathias cut straight to the point. He always did. It was about the only thing Berwald admired about him. “To celebrate.”

Now Aleksander looked even more confused. “Why would you want to do that?”

“To celebrate,” Mathias repeated. “And to catch up. Come on, it’ll be fun!”

For a long moment Aleksander stared at them, and Berwald was convinced that he was going to refuse, but then he just sighed and shrugged and said, “Fine. But I want to take my things back to the hotel first.”

“Sure, of course,” Mathias agreed easily. “Does your hotel have a bar? I’ll buy you an overpriced beer.”

“We don’t have to go that far,” Aleksander said, looking a little wary. “Are you even old enough to buy anything at a bar?”

“I’m eighteen!” Mathias announced proudly.

“Oh, great,” Aleksander did not sound nearly as thrilled as his words implied. “Just don’t get Berwald arrested.”

“What? I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mathias assured, and slung an arm around Berwald’s shoulders that was meant to be friendly and supportive, but mostly just forced Berwald to stoop over until he was at Mathias’ height. “I take good care of my baby brother.” Berwald wriggled out from under his brother’s arm and shoved him away with a huff. Mathias stumbled but laughed and shoved Berwald back, though it barely made him lean to the side.

“You two haven’t changed at all,” Aleksander commented, shouldering his gym bag and beginning to walk after the rest of his team.

\----------

The drinks at the hotel bar turned out to be even more expensive than Mathias had expected so they ended up buying a six pack of beer at the closest store they could find and shared it on the patio outside the hotel lobby, catching up and talking about old times. It turned out that none of them had changed that much over the years. 

“Hey,” Mathias said as he opened his second beer, “If you make the national team in seniors are you going to wear those awesome pants?”

Aleksander made a face that clearly said that he did not think they were ‘awesome’ in the slightest. “No,” he answered flatly.

“But it’s part of the uniform, I thought,” Mathias continued, grinning at his friend’s obvious distaste.

“Then I’ll change the uniform,” Aleksander said stubbornly.

“You’ll loose all your fans, though,” Mathias protested. “And those pants are cool. Right, Berwald?”

“Sure. Cool.” Berwald parroted. “Press seems to like them, at least.”

“I would never be caught dead in those ridiculous outfits,” Aleksander insisted. “There’s no point to them anyway, just useless sensationalizing.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Mathias asked. “Look how popular curling has gotten since your guys started wearing those. It’s all over the news now during the Olympics.”

Aleksander frowned, “People shouldn’t only be watching our sport because we’re wearing stupid outfits,” he grumbled, taking another swig of his beer.

By the time they finally parted, with an exchange of phone numbers and emails, it was as though they had never fallen out of contact to begin with. 

Mathias and Berwald made their way back to their own hotel slowly as the sun began to sink bellow the horizon, tired, but well aware that they still had to pack for their flight early the next morning. Still, there was a certain bounce in Mathias’ step as he walked, grinning down at his cell phone as he typed out a text message, and Berwald was in a surprisingly good mood as well. Even though they had lost the competition, he was glad they had come. And he hoped that they would be able to see Aleksander there the next year, and maybe even beat him next time.


End file.
